Super Spy (Book 2)

22. Behind Closed Doors

A door slammed shut behind Jace. The heavy thud of metal echoed down the hallway, ringing in her ears.

"Are you injured?" was Tristan's first question, as soon as he'd pulled the two of them through the door. They were in a windowless room, lit by glaring fluorescent lights.

"I think a little . . ." Jace grimaced and leaned back against the wall, the cool metal biting her skin through her force-field-singed clothes. Even through the post-battle adrenaline haze, the pulsing blood and pounding heart, she could tell something was wrong with her ankle. "Are you?"

She looked over at Tristan and immediately realized something was wrong. Something worse than just the burns and tears in his clothing, the green goo splattering his arms and the side of his neck, or even the blood smeared on his cheek.

He was shaking slightly, all his limbs trembling. Though he was looking right at her, his eyes were somewhere far away. They didn't look like his eyes. His hands, normally so calm and steady, jittered at his sides, tapping against his thighs.

"Tristan?" 

He winced, and belatedly, Jace remembered to lower her voice. Sometimes when they'd been younger, he'd had episodes where his super-senses started overwhelming him so much that he shut down entirely. The only thing that had helped him then was a dark room and quiet.

So she lowered her voice to a whisper, and reached over to turn the harsh lights off. Tristan's breaths were shaky and ragged, but he seemed to stop shaking so much once darkness closed in on them.

After a moment, his gaze seemed to focus in on her again, dark eyes bright through the darkness. He reached up a hand to harshly wipe something off his cheek, taking another shuddering breath. "Jace. I'm sorry, I—"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off. The door slammed open again, and Grayson strode through, flicking on the lights with one hand. Bright lights flooded the room once again. Tristan cringed back, the strange distant look in his eyes returning. 

Somehow, even though she had just emerged from the fight between superheroes and irae, Grayson looked nearly unscathed. Barely a single hair was out of place in her steel-gray bun. Though she walked slightly too stiffly, as if trying to hide a limp, her gaze was as icy and her expression as unreadable as ever.

Nia sped into the room a moment after Grayson, hands vibrating with nervous energy. She was panting slightly, and splattered in green vine gunk and blood, the colors starkly contrasted. 

Grayson gave a curt nod to both of them. "You were late to the duel," she said to Jace.

Jace blinked. It took her a moment to realize what Grayson was talking about; she'd been so caught up in the fight with the irae, she'd forgotten about being late to the supervillain duel. But now was her chance, finally, to talk to Grayson. Once the handler understood the full threat of the irae she'd just witnessed, and how they were collaborating with— or had possibly taken over— the rebel forces, she'd have to gather her forces to help. 

"I— yes," she said. "But I have information. I was hoping to—"

Grayson held up a hand. "I'll deal with you in a moment, five-two-four." She turned to Tristan.  "You were supposed to be at my side, providing backup. And yet you were nowhere to be found."

"Yes, ma'am," Tristan said, his voice dazed and distant. He was still shaking, limbs trembling so badly he accidentally knocked into Jace with his hand, but didn't even seem to notice. 

"Well? Explain yourself." Though Grayson never raised her voice, her words were sharper than knives and cut twice as deep. "Without you, I was blind out there. I did not sense those creatures coming."